Pin Heads

My sister said it in her coy manner that told me, "you’re not going to like this", and then she waited for my reaction. She was dead on in her appraisal of how I would receive the envelope on the dining table. At first I thought it a cruel joke by the postman who may have been offended by our majestic snow people that welcomed the beginning of spring training.





But that was not the case. The envelope was clearly addressed to me down to the useless extra four digits of the zip code. Now, it is hard for me to imagine, back in the day when this world made sense through the slow erosion of our souls through a pointless clash between two systems, the Soviet Union sending tourist brochures to good, red-blooded Americans telling them how they could spend their summer lounging by the Volga and if interested join their system; not openly through the US mail at least. Could you see Emperor Zhou sending Wu such missives in the last throws of the Shang dynasty? Me neither. But there it was on the table, neatly addressed with the arrogance so typical of its sender as if I had actually asked for it.

The sleek, overly self-indulgent 61 page booklet inside was simply titled, "The Final Season". I thought I felt a lump in my throat, but it was just part of the sandwich I had for lunch in the prelude to vomiting. The main photo below the title was of Yankee Stadium today and above the title a small image of how it looked back before the renovations of the '70's ruined what little charm it had. At the top, "2008 Ticket Information & Fan Guide". At least I'm pretty sure that's how it was laid out since I'm working from memory and not willing to dig to the bottom of the cat litter to verify any of this.

The platitudes contained in the letter from COO Lon Trost were standard clichés though I did have to re-read the sentence, "we have made certain that the new Yankee Stadium will feature the finest and most state-of-the art amenities- but not at tradition's cost." The first go through I thought it said, "at traditional cost", and I was stunned they would be that honest. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw I had it wrong. And while I'm on that sentence, "most state-of-the-art"? As compared to sort of state-of-the-art? The Yankees' marketing materials have gone down steadily since Costanza left.

Before lining the cat's toilet, I flipped through this unsolicited piece of propaganda. After the ticket "license" plan options ("you got a license for that seat, buddy? No? Let's go, I'm taking you in.) I came upon the W. B. Mason ad. Like the recently apprehended international arms dealer Viktor Bout who was known for selling weapons to both sides in a conflict, Mason proclaims its endless devotion to the great tradition of the Yankees, while simultaneously flogging office supplies to the members of Red Sox Nation to which it is so "committed". These shameless confidence corporations, Dunkin's no better, think they can spread eagle for the Yankees while laying down with the Sox at the same time and that irrational fans like myself aren't going to notice? The boycott begins! I know, easy for me to say since I don't drink coffee or eat doughnuts (note the spelling Dunkin) and I have a Staples around the corner, but in these sorts of struggles everyone has to make different levels of sacrifice and I'm sure you'll do your part.

As I ripped the pages to fill the bottom of the box, I was wondering how they got me? What made them think I was open to such offensive literature? And there it was. New for 2008, the Yankees have teamed up with Stubhub. Last year when we went on that section retreat and I bought the Yankees-Blue Jays tickets and miscounted how many people were going and only got 10 tickets instead of 11? That's right. Stubhub! And now my personnel details are there for that grubby Hank, like a bi-pedal Baron Harkonnen, to peruse at his leisure.

So as we move into this new season with the Red Sox about to receive their second set of rings in four years and the Yankees at 26 and counting, "27? 27? Bueller?..." I'll probably go to the Stadium for a section retreat or a Sox-Yanks match up, and when I do I look forward to verbally doing to the Yankees what the cat has been doing to their publication.

Three Types of Time

On a quiet, cloudy Sunday afternoon somewhere between the NFL Play-offs and the start of Baseball's regular season, one is left to contemplate. The timing of Hunter S. Thompson's suicide coincided with the end of the Football season, to which he was addicted. The way the Patriot's season ended, I actually had to ask myself why I spend an inordinate amount of time following "professional" sports. I changed the default channel on the cable from ESPN to CNN and stopped listening to sports radio for a week. But I have cash riding on the Celtics and the Rockets so I knew I was bound to tune in again, with or without the Sox, so why fight it?

I had considered becoming religious again if only to have some pre-planned activities on Sundays. I should probably go back and delete the "again" from that last sentence, but it stays as a hollow nod to all that time spent through First Communion before I realized I didn't like doughnuts. Even if there was an urge, I've read The End of Faith by Sam Harris and whether you agree with him or not, you are reminded of what a mixed bag the whole organized religion thing can be. I, like many, are happy to observe holidays but not holy days and be a devout follower of the American religion of consumerism.

The point at which consideration of time and consumption come together is commercial gambling. Before I went to a casino for the first time, I believed that there were two categories of time: human and cosmological. If it all works out for you, expect to have around 28,000 days on this planet or in a near Earth orbit. Those 77 years have the width of less than a human hair on a chart showing the eons the universe has been churning. I used to wonder what went before and what will come after. The last time that happened I was on a business trip and was trying to see how much of the in-room adult entertainment one could watch as a free preview before the system locked, turns out it's three minutes, and those precious three minutes made the eternity of existence pretty unimpressive.

Once I went to casino, I realized that there is a third category of time that falls somewhere in between days and eons, though tends more towards the eons. With windows blackened and oxygen pumped in through overhead vents, I was shocked to hear the announcement the casino would close in ten minutes. This casino is in Europe where they actually think it unfair to continue fleecing people well past their bedtime. Still it was three in the morning and I was sure it was 8:35 pm. Within the complex fold of time that takes place among the buzzing and dinging of slot machines and constant security video surveillance, is the patience of those machines.

Once called "one armed bandits" for the clunky lever on the side used to activate the consumption of your money, slot machines have grown up a lot in the last couple of decades along with video game technology. Certain spins result in bonus rounds activated on separate screens that turn into video shorts about how much of your money they are returning to you. You have options not to play one credit, no point in saying coin as most casinos are going metal-less, or three credits but 25 credits or more. Nickel machines quickly morph into $2.25 a go. What has not changed is the carnival like sounds each machine projects with 250w speakers turned to 11. With all the sights and sounds, they give the impression they are in a hurry, but watching someone sit for five or six hours at the same machine, or worse being the one sitting there, starts to impress upon the more rational side of your mind just how long it will be before the progressive jackpot comes spewing out, not in a load of coins, but in a neatly printed receipt. Again, more towards the eon end of the ledger.

But when it hits, it's as if that potentially real deity above smacked you on the back and said, "now that's the way!" God as compared to the con man at Trump's Taj Mahal who segued congratulations on a small win to a story about how he was tapped and just found out his son died and he needed cash to get back to New York City. But how to have the good of addictive gambling without the bad of losing all your money and time? That was my question too.

On the money issue, I have copyrighted the business plan for a chain of resorts called "Co-sinos", the first not for profit casino chain. Instead of paying out a miniscule portion of wagers, only operating costs and staff salaries would be deducted. Everything else would be returned to the consumer. While this all sounds good, I haven't moved ahead with developing the first property as there is a bit of a problem. While no one would lose much, like the sticky sweet rush of methadone is a poor substitute for heroin, no one would win much either. Since gambling is essentially inequitable taxation on the lower and middle classes who want to rise to the status of the rich and large cash prizes stimulate the chemical reward centers in our brains, no one in the focus group I ran stuck around for more than a couple of hours before hopping on the bus to Foxwoods. I may try it again, but with a little heavier subsidy on the price of the buffet.

The second idea, also laboriously documented with the US Office for Patents and Copyrights in Alexandria, VA, is "Casino Express" the first drive through casino chain. To ensure the success of this concept I combined it with a liquor store and plan to launch it only in States that allow vendors to provide a cup with ice when selling spirits. Instead of wasting all that time having your head filled with annoying sounds and flashing lights that follow you home and infest your sleep, you simply drive up, stump up the amount you planned to gamble and the games you tend to play. The helpful attendant keys in your wager and the computer runs a complex algorithm that determines how much you won or lost. A visit to Casino express would typically go like this.

Helpful Attendant: "Good evening, Mr. Smith" (Casino Express has a comp package like other casino, but it’s only good for free car washes), "What'll it be?"

Mr. Smith: "I'd like to play some Caribbean Stud and that Popeye machine. Let's go $300." Mr. Smith hands over cash, credit card, transferable bonds or any other M3 asset.

HA: "Very good. Let's see? Ouch! Not too lucky at the poker, though you did go up a little on Popeye before giving some of it back. You've got $23 left."

Mr. Smith: "Knew I should have played roulette. Just give me a pint of Wild Turkey, a liter of coke and a cup with ice."

HA: "Surely. And here's your change."

Mr. Smith: "That's for you. Goodnight."

Another happy customer who now has the rest of his evening to watch some movie on TBS he's seen seven times and get tanked. There is a second window at Casino Express before you leave for those who decide to try a little more. It's outfitted with a no fee ATM machine and a home equity officer.

I’m only left to wonder where Blog time fits into this all?

Al Qaeda Opinion Polling

What’s the worst thing in the world? It used to be nuclear holocaust. We built fall out shelters and, just before my time, practiced the quaint, though pointless "duck and cover" routine. I don't know about you, but I could watch those videos all day long and not get tired of them. We did a lot of idiotic things in order to feel more secure against something that only rational thought and diplomacy could avoid.

Today it's a terrorist attack. For this we have a "War on Terror". This term has confused me since it was first introduced as one typically fights a group or ideology. I used to watch a lot of the "The World at War" WWII series with my dad when I was a kid and I don't have any recollection of the stern announcer dubbed over the footage of scruffy, cigarette smoking GIs walking alongside Sherman tanks in the French countryside saying, "The "War on Formed Divisions" marched on toward victory". The Nazis were Fascists and the Allied Forces were determined to eliminate them so we could get on with the pointless nuclear winter musings.

But instead of a group or ideology we are waging a war on a method? Some have been more specific and referred to Jihadists or Islamic Fascists, but that wouldn't explain the initial push to eliminate the Baathist regime, referred to by Osama bin Laden as Communists, in Baghdad. And what about the Basques in Spain or those wacky ecoterrorist groups in the northwest? As you can see, it is all a bit confusing.

Whatever we call it, we can only hope this "War on Something" is slightly more successful than the "War on Drugs". Since the Nixon Administration, complete with a Tsar, a term loaded with meaning that would appear contrary to American values, we have been fighting that one and the result is more drugs in higher potencies at lower prices. Yippee! If this war goes like that one we'll all soon be dead and in our place decent Muslims will be persecuted by a small minority of radical non-thinkers. Interestingly Republicans say Democrats would do less to protect us from Islamic extremists. Think about it; Al Qaeda is against alternate lifestyles, reproductive choice, minority rights and just about everything else that distinguishes the Democratic platform from the Republican. From the extreme right of American politics you get a feeling that some of them would be comfortable under an Al Qaeda government. Sorry, that was a typical hyperbolic blog statement. Should anyone have been offended by that statement I apologize (Sweet! overreaching blog statement countered with recently pervasive non-apology apology! Yes!).

Like the "duck and cover" exercises of the past, we have our current practices akin to a child's security blanket. The most obvious is the Terror Alert System. I believe we are in Orange and have been for the past 20 months or so. Take a moment and think of how your life has changed in this bright hue of alertness? Was a moment too long? Perhaps you stocked up on your plastic sheeting and duct tape when we were still in magenta? If so, make sure the expiration date on both is still good. Comedian Ron White suggested a two stage system- 1. Get a (expletive) helmet. 2. Put the (expletive) helmet on. As logical as the current system and much more action oriented.

We’ve also had droves of smokers bumming lights outside airports since their lighters were confiscated when they boarded. Some 80% of all the items TSA confiscated were lighters, in some cases taking four or five lighters off a single passenger who, in his or her nicotine driven paranoia, stashed multiple incendiary devices in their carry-on hoping to sneak one through. As an attachment to the Intelligence Bill signed in December 2004, the Congress banned lighters in reaction to the Shoe Bomber incident in 2001. The law came into effect the following spring, almost four years after a bruised Richard Reid was taken into custody. In between the President signing the law and the application of the ban several months later, TSA officials informed passengers that they would soon not be able to take on the lighter they now had in their possession. I tried to make that sentence more coherent, but the substance made it impossible. How the "terrorists" missed that window I do not know. In mid-2007 the TSA Chief Kip Hawley admitted taking lighters was "security theater" and all but torch type lighters were supposedly allowed, though you still see all sort of lighters being confiscated to this day. Maybe not everyone got the memo.

Matches were never banned as it was not deemed cost effective. How that gelled with the Cheney 1% premise (if there is even a 1% chance of a terrorist event taking place that could have a significant impact we must address it as if it was sure to happen) is unclear. That the 1% premise turns risk management on its head and ensures more likely scenarios will not be properly addressed due to limited resources is actually a comforting thought since no advanced civilization could really be that stupid so there must be sound logic at its foundation and risk management is just made up business speak to keep consultants employed. Right?

We are assured all these measures have been successful, along with a few dents in our civil liberties, since there hasn't been another major terrorist attack since 9/11. Improved security coordination internally and externally along with us calling Al Qaeda out to the parking lot of Iraq and our half completed efforts in Afghanistan probably has done much more. It's difficult to know what Al Qaeda and their affiliated groups are thinking or planning since pollsters tend to shy away from beheadings. However, that hasn't stopped dozens of politicians from asserting with great certainty what has or hasn't emboldened or assisted the enemy.

The latest of these pronouncements came from Iowa Republican Steve King concerning the "optics" of an Obama victory and Al Qaeda's jubilant reaction. My first inclination is to take King into custody and waterboard him as he seems to have far too much knowledge of what Al Qaeda is thinking. Similar pronouncements were made about John Kerry once the fact he was a combat war hero was obscured. A video by bin Laden four days before the 2004 election helped ratchet up the fear and Bush's poll numbers. I wish we could have polled Al Qaeda then. I bet you they were pretty steamed that their video helped secure Bush's second term when they really wanted Kerry, who like Obama, would have made life easy for them. In the absence of being able to ask Al Qaeda directly, let's wait for King to confess and then we can make an informed decision about who to vote for.

Letting the Pitcher Decide.

Few moments were harder on Red Sox fans than 16 October 2003 around 11pm when Grady returned to the Sox dugout at Yankee Stadium without what he had gone to get; Pedro Martinez. In a foolish assault on a supposed curse that led to 85 years of futility, I had already made a few calls to friends and parents of friends, people who wouldn't take my calls a year later even when it was obvious the Sox would win because nothing seemed more obvious than game 7 of the 2003 ALCS. And within that obvious game, nothing seemed more obvious than to let the bullpen take over for Petey.

Instead Grady let the pitcher decide. He deferred to someone without perspective beyond 60' 6". He allowed someone who wanted to be a hero decide to be a goat. In '86 it was Buckner, out on the field well past his defensive usefulness in hopes of being there for the final out and a Sox first in 69 years. Instead of asking what Stapleton did with that championship ball, we watched Bill stumble behind first in search of it. Was it all Pedro's fault or even Buckner's? Of course not, but they are convenient. The managers charged with making decisions, who have more oversight of the larger picture and facts in hand were derelict when they deferred to their performers instead of deciding themselves. Even SportCenter Anchors know that.

So why is it that some pundits think we should defer to the men and women in the trenches to decide if we should continue a particular strategy? Why would put excessive weight on the opinions of people who are in the midst of the "fog of war", who measure themselves by never giving up? Why would you listen disproportionately to people who see a small snapshot of a larger political-military conflict to determine what to do next? Why should we be swayed by that?

And how does questioning the troops’ ability to determine if we should “soldier on” become a sign of non-support for those troops? The public can admire their will, determination and training, but Presidents can also make decisions that are in their best interest and the interests of the country, though perhaps contrary to what a non-scientific sample of GIs writes home. In fact, that's what Presidents are elected to do.

There was a lot of rhetoric about how those who questioned the war disheartened the troops and emboldened our enemies. I give our troops a little bit more credit and believe they can tolerate dissenting opinion within a democratic system. Many even claim to be fighting to protect just that. No, I don't think that debate disheartened or emboldened anyone. Now the lack of armored Humvees, platitudes about "dead-enders" and "turning the corner" in the face of a well organized and deadly insurgency and the lack of a coherent plan for victory? Those might have been a little discouraging. It was also contradictory to listen to soldiers about staying the course while ignoring their opinions about the basic equipment they required.

However, don't believe I'm all for the defeatists. I firmly believe the criticism after Hurricane Katrine and since has emboldened tropical depressions everywhere.

How far...?

I have two windows in my office. Actually, I have one window but there is a 3'x3' pillar that must have something to do with holding up the remaining 22 floors of the building I'm in that dissects the window. Supposedly having more windows is a sign of status in the workplace. I'm unsure what a pillar is meant to convey, but I have a strong feeling it is not related to status or power.

The fact I have this/these window(s) is somewhat irrelevant as I no longer have a view. You would assume that I always had a view prior, but that would be wrong. You shouldn't be so quick to judgements. It's a relic habit that served us well as cavemen, but is less useful in today's pre-post-future environment. My view was created just a couple of years ago when the former United States Mission to the United Nations was deconstructed. I say deconstructed because a virtual battalion of construction workers, in this case "deconstruction" workers, took it apart beam by beam.





The old US Mission was a 50's creation that best resembled the tweed covering a speaker from the same era. Concrete lattice work had its day. That day was February 3, 1952 when the plans for the US Mission were approved. No other plans were approved that day, which is why you don't see more concrete lattice work. Glass exteriors have had many days from the looks of it.
I didn't miss the old Mission. I'm not sure there was anyone who did. If you did, could you please send your name, address and your latest vision test to:

Olde US Mission
254 E. 21st Street Rm. 1701B
New York, NY 10023

For the rest of us, the empty space wrapped in a footing of blue plywood was more interesting.



And for me the view of the United Nations General Assembly Building with its skewed dome and the skyline of Long Island city across the East River was a site to behold. Sunlight, previously foreign to my office like light to the last item of groceries at the bottom of a brown paper bag, was welcomed with squinted eyes. It took about three weeks to realize my office was fitted with blinds and another four days to learn how to operate them. Like a caveman manipulating fire, I tamed the early morning glare and basked in the glory, while also finding various things in the corners of my office that were previously invisible in the dank glow of the two pairs of fluorescent tubes that dissect the ceiling.

But that is all nostalgia now. After enduring the initial drilling and clamour that accompanies the pouring of a reinforced foundation, I watched as the structure grew slowly to eye level before eclipsing the General Assembly and the four skyscrapers across the river. I returned from a trip to Nairobi this week to find the US Mission had taken my external view and now my internal view as well as darkness set in like a Scandinavian winter.

All this and yet I have no neighbours. I can't look across into the office of some industrious Foreign Service Officer to see him or her tapping away at his or her computer or pointing to a map or anything delegates to the UN must do in their offices. The US Mission has no windows for its first six floors so as to be impervious to a car bombing. It has no windows on any of its floors on the south side or the back. So my view is now of a concrete wall divided into verticle rectangles each with four circular holes where stone plates will someday be fitted resulting a in a gray veneer.







Which brings me to my question: how far do paintballs fly?

America Decides. Since when?

I just finished building a snowman with my twins, which means I built a snowman and they cheered me on. They have very different styles so there was a diversity of support. Building a snowman is an act that saps one of all cynicism. It's just difficult to see the negative when a 6' 3" frozen statue is smiling down on you with his crooked grin. But I'll fight through that.

We are again in the season of electing a President, which like most holidays and the NBA regular season and playoffs is much longer than it need be. Candidates are out campaigning, honing their stump speech, deflecting attempts by opponents to define them in a negative light and gaining more pounds than Britney on a downswing. The 24 hour media cycle embraces this with enough vigor to allow Jon Stewart to extend to a full hour. Through it all, we are expected to believe Americans of voting age and without felony convictions are actually making up their minds.

However, the method of campaigning itself undermines this premise. Campaigns work hardest at raising money to air commercials and hire consultants to assist in spinning the latest topic. Almost without fail, polling numbers shift in direct proportion to the number of commercials they are exposed to and the bent of the media sources they listen to. I hesitate at pluralizing "sources" since most people don't get beyond one and, if they do, they don't get beyond one political orientation. You read the New York Post and then go home and watch Fox News in a virtual piling-on of biased information.

Perhaps I would have more faith in the ability of Americans to make an informed decision if, to this day, some of them didn't still believe Iraq had a hand in 9/11. Just because the Vice President said it, and repeated it and threw it in even after the President had finally admitted it wasn't true, doesn't make it true. Yet, some people still buy it or worse find comfort in it for our actions since. Marketers, like politicians rely on this pliability and the success of the Thigh Master is proof positive that some of us shouldn’t be allowed to vote.

So as we move towards a Democratic nominee and Ralph Nader decides if he should scuttle that candidate’s chances of winning, we await the Swift Boat to pull along side and turn the election. Afterwards we’ll shake our heads and wonder how it happened all the while in a state of denial of how the system works in the first place.

I think I’ll put back on my Goretex and build an igloo.

I am Owed 9 Bucks

Seldom do my wife and I get out. Tethered to the house by three children we exist in a short radius that is only occassionally expanded by the train to work or the short trip to the supermarket. Even when we did go out in the Land Before Tikes, the movies was not a typical night out. For some reason my wife never found sitting in the dark for two hours in near silence as interesting as sitting in near dark for two hours having a beer and making lots of noise. I was happy with either option with perhaps the latter taking it by a length.

Now is different. Now doesn't allow us so many long nights because of age and offspring. Now is like being in middle school when parties were still dry and the most fun one could conjer was renting a slightly inappropriate movie for that new fangled VHS device. My wife's father was on the cutting edge of technology and loved his gadgets so they got stuck down the unsuccessful evolutionary branch of Beta like some fast loping Hominid without the Sapien part. Regardless of format, that's where we were and that's where we pretty much find ourselves today.

So when we went to see "I Am Legend" it was with much excitment and anticipation. We passed on the safe bet of "Charlie Wilson's War" and instead went for what appeared to be the movie best enjoyed on the big screen. We had caught a short trailer on the internet and were fairly sure we knew what we were getting into; a man alone, surviving off the land of a once concrete jungle, forced to compete with escaped zoo predators...[If you have yet to see this movie and don't want me to spoil it- and it pains me to allow you this out as you should know, you have a right to know- you may wish to stop here and instead read my write up of "Fried Green Tomatoes" ("Not just a chick flick, a real recipe for fun! Three and a half stars") from the January movie review]

But no, that isn't what it is really about. That's the hollow premise they bring you in on and to that I have to say, "Will Smith, shame on you!" No this is actually a mix between Planet of the Apes and Night of the Living Dead. The virus that was thought benign and a cure for cancer actually turned deadly and killed most everyone. The only ones to survive were a few immune to the virus for no apparent reason like Will Smith, who also happened to be the military's lead scientist on the outbreak and a few hundred thousand other people who are infected and essentially rabid hunting immune people so they can kill them and eat them. Did I mention their dogs are rabid too and hunt immune dogs to kill and eat them? I didn't? Well they do. And Will Smith's wife and daughter get killed just as they escape to relative safety. Is it possible I failed to mention he had to strangle his own dog to death? And that he had to amputate his own arm by dragging it across a rusty barbwire fence? That actually didn't happen but might as well have.

Imagine our surprise! Now imagine the surprise of the parents of the 8-13 year olds who brought their kids to this matinee to see the ever heroic Smith in a signature roll only to flee after about 25 minutes when their children froze up from fear and stopped responding to basic commands. I have to admit, I didn't think in my late late thirties I would be closer to a female in a movie theatre than I was when I was 16, but my wife was tucked deep into my sweatshirt and heading south. This was in no way related to sexual desire, but rather had a groundhog, burrowing quality to it. Nonetheless I was slightly aroused when I too wasn't hiding in the sweater of the man sitting next to me on the other side.

Not since I charged people $2 a review to try and recupe the ticket price to the Jodie Foster flop "Contact" have I felt so let down by a motion picture. Charlie Wilson's War? I heard it was very entertaining, Hanks and Roberts how could it not be at least that, but I have yet to see it. I have been to see kids movies with my daughter, but not out again with my wife. Has our radius just shrunk again?

If only we had seen this, it would have all been different!

Perforated Faith

What has happened to this country? There are numerous talking heads, here and abroad, who anticipate the fall of the Great American Era. Like Rome, some point to the Goths, Visigoths and Vandals who threaten our gates and seek to bring us down. Others point to internal decay, the detorioration of values or the imposition of fascist rule over the compliant masses that are causes for our end.

All of that is nice, but it has nothing to do with the real cause. These are simply symptoms of the real ill that is at the root of our malaise: we have lost the knowledge of how to perforate. Like previous civilizations that lost the most core ingredients of their societies; steel, glass, cement or paper, we have lost the ability to properly perforate. It matters not what material we are spealing of, they all suck.

Kitchen towel? When was the last time that came off in a neat clean line? Postage stamps? As the price has risen, the incidents of stamp tear have soared exponentially. The line separating individually packed string cheese, toilet paper sheets (quilted or sandpaper), spiral bound notebook paper, facial tissue box tops, fridge pack soft drink sleeves or 12-pack beer cartons. It doesn't matter.

Now many will point to the fact that many of these products are not even made in the United States anymore. That the sucking sound of NAFTA or the continued artificial exchange rate of the Yuan are to blame for America's perforation disfunction. At the start of this, and here I'm a little unsure as I was out of the country until mid-2003, but I put the date of inferior perforation becoming accepted as standard quality somewhere around January 20th, 2001, we could hardly be blamed. Only since then as we have continued to accept the semi-tearable as within tolerance that the blame has come to rest on the shoulders of Pennsylvania Steelers, Detroit Auto workers and the small percentage of California's documented migrant farm workers.

Even the definition has been changed to accommodate the fall in perforation expectations. The commonly accepted defintion today is:

1. A hole or series of holes punched or bored through something, especially a hole in a series, separating sections in a sheet or roll.

Absent is any reference to the holes allowing for separation of the sections. I began to think it was just me. Somehow I had come to expect more of perforation than a man should. My house, as many these days, is void of any hardcopy version of a dictionary, but that didn't mean Ma' didn't have one lurking next to the 1968 edition of the World Book Encyclopedia. And sure enough she did. A sleek 1972 version of Webster's with one cover heavily stained and the hinge partially separated. Essentially what would be described as "Collector's condition" on Amazon marketplace. And there it was, page 273 just before "Perform".

per·fo·ra·tion (pûrf-rshn) n. : 1. A hole or series of holes punched or bored through something, especially a hole in a series, separating sections in a sheet or roll, for the purpose of separation.

So next time you are at the Supermarket make sure you let management know you are fed up and you aren't going to take it anymore- that and they should stop putting the sticker on the deli packages so that it makes a hole in the plastic when you open it defeating the purpose of the ziplock! Which explains much of our recent poor showings in international basketball competitions.

Scandal at the ISTSB

Animosity and competition, often leading to accidents and property destruction, are run of the mill on Sodor. See story below.

Few public transportation systems have a spottier record than the railways on the Island of Sodor. Hardly a day passes without a mass derailing, loading system failure or significant delays. What is the reaction of the Island of Sodor Transportation Safety Board (ISTSB) to this chronic flaunting of safety and inherent waste in the system? At best, it turns a blind eye. At worst, it is complicit in the conspiracy.

The obvious place to look is at the top and by top I mean the man in charge, Topham Hatt. Or rather Sir Topham Hatt. What great achievement led to his Knighthood? Your guess is as good as mine. But royal connections might be the only way to explain a record of reckless management not simply going unchecked, but instead rewarded with track upgrades, additional engines and lengthy time spent off the job ferrying his wife around in the company car.

So many problems and yet 2008 will see a 7.3% increase in passanger fares and an almost 5% rise in cargo charges as well as new or renewed fees on peak hour travel. In this time of global climate change leading to major changes in how we all have to treat the environment we rely on, the coal fired equipment on Sodor, allowed to run wild with some engines known for their blase attitude towards posted limits, presents a cautionary tale. Sir Hatt, please embrace the responsibilities you have been given and change your evil ways!

How do you get to that?

Are you the best person you know? I'm not and I know few people who would say they were, even out of false modesty, which in itself would disqualify them from being the best person you know. Talented people should be able to acknowledge their gifts. So unless you are one in a million, which means in the US there are 300 just like you; better odds than in China where some 1500 people would have equal attributes, you probably didn't answer the question in the affirmative.

So is your neighborhood the best neighborhood in your town or city? Most of us like or love where we live, if not for its inate charm and infrastructure then because it's where we live and familiarity fosters security and attachment. However, most, though I suppose not all, would not rate his or her neighborhood as "the best" they know. Tree lined streets, great schools, expansive parks, enjoyable bars and restaurants or friendly neighbors. There are a number of criteria we use to judge such rankings and invariably somewhere else has something else, something your few blocks or cross streets don't.

But perhaps your town or city is the best in your state? This is obviously colored by the size of the state and proximity to neighboring state and thus neighboring towns and cities. Regardless, similar concerns come to mind and we start to wonder whether there isn't a better place somewhere not so far away. Whatever the universe to sample from a confident postive reply is not so easy to find.

Obviously the next question pertains to whether you believe the state you live in to be the best in the union? Since you aren't a tourist in your own state, the criteria has to go beyond beaches and mountains to many of the questions that entered into our deliberations about neighborhood or town or city. And then you start to question not what you think of your own state's qualities, but what the other guys have. Sure North Carolina is supposed to be a great place to live, work and raise a familiy, but are its schools really better than mine? Is its local and state government as responsive (or as unresponsive) as my state's? I suspect there are a few that would issue a proud yes with little contempation, but once you start comparing they might not see their bank balance as full as they thought.

So why is it that the vast majority of people in this country insist, with little thought or hesitation, that the USA is #1! That America is the greatest country on the face of the earth. How do you make that leap? What criteria go into making that claim? What information do you have about the Netherlands, New Zealand or Sao Tome that allow you such unrestrained confidence that is hard not to take as arrogance if you are on the receiving end? How do you get to that?

Shooting a bus out of the sky that's moving 20,000 MPH

This seems as appropriate a place as any to begin. A disabled spy satellite that has been disabled basically since we paid the millions of dollars it required to launch it, is poised to rain down with a half ton of toxic hydrazine fuel on board that will likely survive re-entry. If you want to spin it, I suppose you could say, "...rain down on our heads..." If you are so inclined, please add that. Otherwise the chances of it coming in contact with humans is slim to none with Slim mounting his horse and leaving town. That should make you feel good unless you actually believe you had a chance playing last night's MegaMillions drawing, where your odds of winning the jackpot were less than being hit by our soon to be returned cloud busting spy satellite.

Thinking back to Sky Lab's decent, this one hardly is making much of a splash. My guess is it's the Armageddon factor as we plan to shoot this one out of the sky before it re-enters the atmosphere. I remember my sisters were waitresses at a fish shack by the Rhode Island shore and went to work with decorated hard hats and pretend emergency equipment. Perhaps recent history has made such satire unacceptable, but the customers thought it a riot and they probably made three to four times the typical amount in tips.

The chances of us successfully shooting down the satellite are also somewhat thin. The Navy's Aegis system that will be used, in this case sans warhead, has hit its target 12 out of 14 times in testing. That was at closer range and much slower speeds. The city bus sized satellite will be traveling at 20,000 miles per hour. Don't worry, we're waiting until the Shuttle is back safely and we have already promised to pay any other countries if we damage any of their equipment up there.

Here's to long shots.